midnight whisperings
by makapedia
Summary: "Maka, I can't miss what I've never had," he mumbles, nervously slipping his hands from her, as if unsure of what, exactly, she wants. "There wasn't anybody before you, you know? It's always just… kind of… been you." / soma fic featuring sex-repulsed asexual Maka.
based on a kinda-sorta prompt ask i got on tumblr. anon wanted sex repulsed maka and while it isn't my personal headcanon, i'm always here for some good ace rep. hope you enjoy!

* * *

Sometimes, in the later hours of the night, she wonders if he regrets it.

There is heat in her weapon's gaze. Unmistakable heat. His stare lingers too long on bare ankles and thin wrists and the nape of her neck, always, before he blinks back his feelings and smiles at her, slow and sweet, like molasses. He always holds her hand a little extra tightly those days, fingers laced so intimately between hers, thumb tucked safely around her palm. And he kisses her, so very chastely, on the corner of her mouth, smiling through her bashful giggles.

It's never been a question over whether or not he loves her for who she is. Soul adores her so completely, soul deep, and she knows this, knows it well. She can read it in the the way he evens her pigtails out in the bathroom mirror, in the way he holds her when she cries on Mother's Day and plays piano for her and only her. And more than anything else, she knows his soul, so honest and guarded and loyal, so loyal.

He loves her. And she loves him, so much that it hurts, so much that it doesn't feel right without him in her life. Soul is her other half. Soul is _her person._

But Soul's eyes follow the sway of her hips like a hawk, obedient and longing, and sometimes Maka wonders if he regrets loving her. Sometimes she feels selfish. Sometimes, sometimes, she wonders if he wishes if he was with a girl who did like the idea of sex, who feels the same attraction that he'd admitted to, so honestly, when they'd finally fallen together.

Maka squints into the lowlight of his bedroom, tucked neatly beneath the curve of his elbow. Soul's fingers tap little rhythms on her wrist, as if she is a living, breathing instrument, and suddenly her thoughts are so loud, too loud, and she's tensing against him.

Soul fidgets. He freezes. "No good?"

"No, that's not-" Maka sucks in a thick breath and wiggles around to face him. "Do you want it?"

His brows furrow. "Maka-"

"Do you miss it? You don't-"

"Maka, I can't miss what I've never _had,_ " he mumbles, nervously slipping his hands from her, as if unsure of what, exactly, she wants. "There wasn't anybody before you, you know? It's always just… kind of… been _you._ "

Her face feels hot. Her eyes burn, dampdampdamp, and Soul breaks only to rub the tears from her cheeks, expression distraught. "But you still feel it," she says, very quietly, almost ashamed. "And I _don't._ Do you… do you want it?"

Soul blinks at her. And oh, his eyes are so very dark, so very red, and she's never been very good at looking away. He chews his lip, slipping his hands from her face, guiltily, so guiltily. "Yeah, I feel it," he admits. "But I _don't want it_ if it would ever make you uncomfortable. Maka, I don't _want_ it if you don't. You come first. Always. I have a hand."

She laughs, watery and ridiculous, and says, "You have _two._ "

He cracks a grin. "You caught me," Soul says back, lifting each hand and wiggling every long, dexterous finger. Piano hands. Talented piano hands, that will bring her such joy and comfort, that will create such interesting, tumultuous music. "'S it okay to touch you?"

Maka pushes back his bangs and nods, smiling, tentatively, and Soul slips his arms around her only to pull her to him and press a gentle kiss to her forehead. And how, she wonders, can anyone be so wonderful and so understanding? He bleeds his loyalty through every pore, through every crooked smile and when she cries about it, again, it's not as nervous so much as it's relief.

His breath is warm on her skin. "Gonna have to start tickling you if you keep up the water works," he says, not without his signature brand of harmonious worry, and Maka giggles damply, only to kiss his chin.

"I'll sit on you," she threatens.

Soul whistles low and pauses, only to kiss her brow. "Sure thing, braniac."

She falls asleep, heart full, with Soul's cheek pressed to hers and all of their clothes still on. And it's perfect, and safe, and he still smiles at her when she wakes up and stretches out on his bed like a kitten, shaking his head. _Bed hog,_ he teases, but it's done so fondly that she can't help but tell him she loves him, so unbidden and vulnerable that it catches him off guard for a moment.

He blinks, ears pink. "I, um-" Soul stutters, adorable, and Maka takes his hands in hers and squeezes tight. " _Yeah,_ love you too, nerdbrain."


End file.
